Tag Archives: divine

Most days, as I arrive home, I’m scanning the tree line, hoping to see one of three bunnies that live in my yard. They adore my abundance of clover.

The newest is just a baby. This morning, as I walked out before leaving the house, he emerged from beneath a pine, stretching as if I had disturbed his sleep. It’s the same tree where I saw him last night, as my headlights traced the edge of his ‘one of a kind’ bunny ears. Regardless of my day, I squeal with delight when I see him or one of the others.

They remind me of a truth far deeper than ever I could write.

I am a child of nature. There’s no other place where I feel as whole, as blessed. There are places I know of that seem to be as close to heaven as possible. The air is clearer, the pace a bit slower, and even babies stop their crying.

Every breath is one of divine intention, manifestation of a loving God.

I believe the hardest commandment to keep is the last – Thou shall not covet. I feel the need to confess every time I visit Millie’s port. I’m in total envy of her place in North Carolina. I imagine the cool dirt path beneath my toes, the soft shush of wind pushing bough against limb.

There’s a similar spot not far from me, where I cannot pass without stopping, sloughing off my shoes, and wading into waters surely as clear and cool as they were thousands of years ago.

It is my refuge, my recharger. It is home regardless of where I’m going or how long I’ve been gone.

it is here that I
understand
what was surely the
lesson
set deep in my bones
a voice
I remember
from a far distant place

was to gather me
home
a wanting so right
I could lay
side by side
with the stars
tracing back the journey
the ways we had come
returning of souls
unto one

creator of all
calls my beginning
none
no other the same
as the fate
of a sparrow
a silent recall
to the heart
we were sharing
another
one day

a lighted
cathedral
of cedar and spring
windows
propped up
by the night

here I am nothing
everything true
a melding of shadow
endeared to the light
memory given to name

beloved of heaven
writer of wings
breath I have tasted
as mine
is known in this
stillness
where I am begun
from a song
once the robins
were singing
so sweet

As of late, I’ve been criticized for being distant, quiet, unavailable, aloof, and downright selfish.

My southern grace pushes me to apologize, but the part that is protective of me – my hurts, my heart, my silence – doesn’t feel the need to say I’m sorry, for fear it will be seen as an opening door – an unwelcome intrusion into the private world that is me.

Experience has shown me that it is a fragile line which divides time I need for myself and time I gladly sacrifice for others. Perhaps that’s why it’s so noticeable, since most of my time is spent on the sacrifice side of the fence.

Years ago, I was going through a rather traumatic time, and I didn’t share it with my family. Some likely saw that as selfish, and yet, it was a difficult period and my focus needed to be on myself. I’m certain (still) that if I had shared it with others, my role would have changed into being one to helping them to get through it. It’s also possible that the shift in focus would have been good for me, even if it came with the cost of certain burden.

Sometimes (selfish or not), it has to be about me. And sometimes, it is in these times that I realize those who love me most – those who allow me whatever I need (even – and especially when – it is at odds with what they would prefer).

Thank you for allowing me the gift of oneness, the sweet rapturous void of nothing…….. ❤

what time remains
as once we gathered
shadows of the sun
hands were folded
soft into
dreams we dared become
a fallen spark
of ancient light
some other
might have been
moments held
within the space
of one

evergreen
and miles to go
home before we knew
a garden bloomed
from seeds
of yesterday
a path
not one remembers
a distant
passing through
remains the same
as these we loved
blessings to repay

what name
was once you called to me
echoes o’er the storm
a distant light
unshaken by these memories
of home
a part of all that mattered
is forgiveness settled round
in tireless waves
the ways we were
before again abound
the sweetest blossoms
scattered
as breath in silence still
remains of wishes
traded
another place to fill
a lullaby forgotten
though not for comfort lent
as days I lost
ten thousand more between
counted from a distance
roads and stars
the same
paths converge
within the fault
of dreams

I’m the same
as remembered
though years
pressed between
linen
stained by a rose
a moment
of something
graces me still
a photo
come loose
at the corners
where dates are penned
gray
and names are
erased
by the turning of leaves
light through the page
where once
we were something
once we were well
on our way
to the same
ever after
as easy as breathing
in an ocean
of stars
fixed on another
hello
where have you been
how is it I know
what was truth
I am still
the same

told me once
but I don’t recall
names and faces
line the hall
someone I’ve forgotten
to remember
a story passed
from son to son
a daughter came
the only one
to see beyond
the circumstance
of fences

broken by this
getting on
healed by hands
tired and worn
graces said before
the lay me down
to hear again
the sacred drum
beat with wonder
I’ve become
the answer to another
sweet amen

a fate decided
while I slept
reminders of a secret kept
and choices made
was there no choice
at all
but take of life
a moment more
of passions
locked away before
somewhere I was sure
you’d never find

a future folded
nice and neat
against the sunshine
of my sheets
way back on the shelf
of memory
dreams of people
I don’t know
crowding round to let me go
kisses where
the curtains touch
the ground

tell me how it seemed to you
give me something
I can do
speak of places
one last time
to leave

dirty dishes
everywhere
worn out rhyme
but I don’t care
they warm against
the places
you were there
taking notes
and stealing time
with promises
to fit with mine
lines to cross
eternities
of one

. . .

Author’s Note: While coffee is my drink of choice, I periodically
indulge in a hot tea – white with orange. It brings me sweet slumber,
up until the time it wakes me up for a trip down the hall. But even then,
it’s not without the benefit of words. Writing in the dark.

a moment of holy
sacred divine
as light thru the memory
of windows
we were
remembered another
thought we became
a star not yet fallen
a wish not yet made
a beginning more tender
than words could endure
or touch
could be trusted
to keep